Musings of a Hat
by CandiFloss
Summary: He sees all, he knows all. But in the end, what will his decision be? The ramblings of the Sorting Hat as he struggles with where to place three very "interesting" children. Next generation, Scorpius, Albus, and Rose centric. Please read and review! ONESHOT


**Disclaimer: *sigh*...I don't own HP. Thanks for rubbing it in. :P**_  
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**Musings of a Hat**_  
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_The Sorting Hat:_

_They seem so scared, all of them. Like unsteady colts, they stumble on their way to me, clumsily fumbling around on the stool until, with shaking fingers, they dare to put me on._

_They're scared, and I know why. Growing up is a daunting feat, but it's one each of them must face. And it starts the minute they wear me. I define them. And that scares them._

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**Scorpius Malfoy:**

He was an odd one, to be sure. A head filled with fear and hope, he perched on the very edge of the seat and, from my spot on the top of his hair, I could feel him quailing in fear as he dug his fingernails into the side of the wooden stool. Yes, he was scared. Not that he had any reason to be, however – I'd been sure, as I saw him across the room, what he'd be in. But then, as he put me on with trembling fingers, I stopped. A Malfoy – this one should have been easy. And yet, it wasn't. I should have been able to call out Slytherin without hesitation, without a pause – and yet, I didn't. Why? Because he was different. His slicked-back, platinum hair and steely storm-cloud eyes may scream Draco Malfoy to the unsuspecting eye, but his mind told a very different story. Ambition was there, yes – he was, after all, a Malfoy – and yet, it was peppered with something missing in all his predecessors. Compassion. Understanding. Maybe not to the point of being a Hufflepuff, but tolerance was a new virtue in a Malfoy. And he was clever, oh, yes, he was clever – but, unlike his father before him, I sensed that he wanted to use that cleverness for something other than selfish reasons. He'd been brought up well, that much was obvious – his childhood was bright, I could tell from looking in his mind. His mother had adored him, showering him with anything and everything his little heart could have desired. And his father, though a man of few words, had nevertheless cared for his son more than anything he'd ever cared for before in his life. Their combined nurturing had fostered within the young Malfoy something new, something light. In place of the sly, devious cunning characteristic of Slytherin was a sharp mind, an eagerness to please, and potential enough to fill the skies. There was only one thing I could do, and one thing I did. Drawing in my breath, I called out:

_"Ravenclaw!"_

As I watched the boy, his face suddenly pinched at my cry, I felt a twinge of guilt. Yes, my job was to sort the students into the Houses that suited them – but I felt sorry for the lad. He would have hell to pay back home, that was for sure. A Malfoy, in Ravenclaw? Who'd ever heard of such a thing?

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**Albus Potter:**

Laughter bubbled within me the instant this child placed me upon his head. Furiously, his mind was chanting, like a mantra: _"Not Slytherin, not Slytherin…." _ Stifling my chuckles, I whispered, "Just like your father, eh? I believe he said those exact words the first time we met." The boy jumped at hearing me talk – but more out of nerves than shock, I think. His father had definitely told him what to expect.

His emerald eyes (yes, the spitting image of his father!) wide, his thoughts turned to, "Yes, I know…he told me not to worry if I was in Slytherin. But he also told me I could choose. So, please…." He trailed off there, seemingly too jumpy to continue.

I considered. This boy was so young, and so raw. So different from what I'd seen in his father – but of course, Harry Potter had a shadow over him from the minute Voldemort had walked into his life. He'd been destined for greatness, and his path had influenced my decision. Gryffindor had suited him, in the end. But his child – his child was what Harry Potter could have been, were it not for his fate. The ambition, the cleverness and resourcefulness – these were the qualities I recognized in Albus, the very same qualities I'd seen in his father and disregarded. I saw a child who lived in the shadow of famous parents and an overbearing brother; I saw a child whose mind swam with wonderful possibilities; I saw a child with a thirst…to prove himself.

Hesitating only a second to reassure him that his fate did not lie in Slytherin, I cleared my throat. And called out:

_"Ravenclaw!"_

And hoped, for his sake, that I hadn't made the wrong decision.

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**Rose Weasley:**

_Another Weasley. _Upon seeing a set of sparkling blue eyes and a cascade of red ringlets, I'd sighed inwardly and prepared myself to pronounce her a Gryffindor within the minute. But, when she set me on her head, the word fell silent on my lips. I paused. And frowned.

A Weasley, to be sure. A fierce loyalty was kindled within her, a spark recognized as an inherent trait within all Weasleys. Loyalty to her family, to her friends, even to Hogwarts, though she'd been here only a few hours. And courage, that was there too. The recipe for a perfect Gryffindor.

And yet, I hesitated. For, though she was a Weasley, she was also a Granger. I saw intelligence, an intelligence that seeped through her entire mind. There was a hungriness, almost a desperation, for knowledge – if she could soak up all text in the world, it would still not be enough. Her passion came from the thrill of learning, from the thrill of knowing. A book was a portal to her, a gateway into a new and different world – one of imagination, of creation, of magic. Hogwarts was to be her playground, I could tell that, even at the green age of eleven. SShe cherished words like some cherished wealth, and molded them to become a part of her. Her future was bright, and it could be brighter still if I ignored her Gryffindor traits and sort her into the house that would suit her, that would guide her, that would become her.

Without missing another beat, I yelled out:

_"Ravenclaw!"_

And watched as her face broke into a grin and she ran to her cousin, who swept her up in a hug, both of them glad to be together and in Hogwarts, where they knew they belonged. I watched as Albus introduced her to his first Ravenclaw friend – a small boy with white-blonde hair, who, shyly, uncertainly, offered her his hand and a tentative smile. With her characteristic beam, she shoved aside his hand and wrapped him up in a hug, too, one which Albus soon joined. Seeing the three of them together, my thoughts were set at ease. It was a tricky job, mine – "sorting" a child into one definite House or the other. But I like to think that, most of the time, I got it right.

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_Seven years later…._

I watched then and I watch now. From my perch on the wall, I am always watching, though they may not know it. They forget me, you see. After the initial excitement of their sorting, they settle down into their respective Houses, and they forget. I am just the Hat, just the tattered, worn Hat who once pronounced them to be what they'd always known they would be.

But I do not forget. And now, as my eyes follow the seventh-years who walk so confidently into the Hall, I remember. I remember the first-years, the ones who blundered through those doors so many years ago, tripping over their oversized robes that seemed to swallow them whole. I remember their eyes – wide, anxious, drowning in the beauty of Hogwarts. I remember their pale, pinched faces as they waited for their fates to be determined. I remember them laughing, jubilantly, as they shared a first meal with their newfound friends.

And today, I watch for one last time, as the Head Boy and Head Girl march solemnly to the podium for their final words to this school, their respective blonde and red heads bent over a shared speech. I watch the dark-haired, green-hard boy beam at his two best friends as they speak to an eager crowd, his Quidditch Captain badge glinting in the candle-light.

I watch as, when they sit down, the Head Boy and Head Girl steal a clandestine kiss, out of the view of their teachers, their grey and blue eyes conveying what their words cannot. I watch as the three of them share a hug, just like their first, seven years ago. I watch as they laugh, as they cry, and as they make their way out of the Great Hall one last time, leaving behind the echoes of who they were yesterday.

And I smile, because I know now that I was right.

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! So, this was my first venture into the amazing, _magical_ (hehe, see what I did there?) realm of HP fanfiction! I am open to any and all opinions you may have, so please tell me what you thought! Did you like it? Did you hate it? Only meh? LET ME KNOW! (Or else...I've got a wand and I'm not afraid to use it!) I'm an aspiring author, so your opinions are really important to me. Please review, and I may throw in a free Daniel Radcliffe for Christmas! (Hey, you never know :P)**


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